Wanted Dead and Alive
by Ryaden2u
Summary: When Sam and Dean Winchester are once again on the radar of the FBI, they are set on avoiding Law Enforcement as long as possible. But Winchester Law dictates that what could go wrong, will certainly go to hell fast. FBI Agent Rose Andrews just wants to take a vacation from her life. And get her son far away while she is at it. (Full summary inside) Season 14 AU
1. Chapter 1

**Summary: **When Sam and Dean Winchester are once again on the radar of the FBI, they are set on avoiding Law Enforcement as long as possible. But Winchester Law dictates that what could go wrong, will certainly go to hell fast. Between strange creatures with weird side effects, God and his sister popping whenever they please and the law hunting them, they can't catch a break. FBI Agent Rose Andrews just wants to take a vacation from her life. And get her son far away while she is at it. Season 14 AU

* * *

**Hello! This is Ryaden2u**

**This story is something I came up with to practice my English. I'm not a native speaker so bear with me and point out any mistakes you find. There's something vaguely resembling a plot, and I know more or less where I am going, but the story in general is something I think up as I write. So without further ado…**

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything but the OCs.**

Dean looked behind him. The thing that was chasing him had red eyes, a furry face, and long, white sharped teeth. It looked like a cross between a werewolf and a lizard, and its penetrating eyes were burning holes into Dean's owns.

He didn't know what that thing was. He was expecting a werewolf, since the MO was the same, and it surprised him that the thing even was a thing. But with many years of experience, Dean wasn't faced. A little surprised, yeah, but not even in the least worried. He had formed a theory whilst running, and he was expecting Sam to have had the same thought.

While a werewolf can be described as wild, this thing has more self-preservation, so it couldn't be led to a trap. But, unlike the werewolves, the wolf-lizard-lookalike thing seemed to expect no fight from its victims, and it may have been the truth if the man chased was anyone but Dean.

With no panic whatsoever, Dean stopped running and faced the creature with a wild grin, his own sharp teeth showing a cocky smirk. A wicked-looking blade was held loosely on his right hand, while a gun was displayed on his left side. The creature stopped, maybe sensing that something was wrong, that the predator had changed.

With a wicked gleam in his eyes, Dean charged against the thing, the blade aimed at its neck. With quick reflexes, the creature sidestepped the blade, but no without consequences. The blade impaled itself in the thing's shoulder, prompting a loud, screeching sound come from its mouth.

"Take that, you son of a bitch!" yelled Dean, that crocked smile still gracing his face.

No more than two seconds later the smile disappeared, an unbearable pain cutting through his side. The thing was in front of him, large, sharped claws shinning in the darkness. Without further hesitation, Dean drew his gun, aiming at the thing's heart.

A loud bang could be heard on the clearing, but as nobody was around, it didn't even stir trouble.

But the beast only blinked, and with a loud roar, charged against Dean.

Cursing, Dean was going to start running again, when the sound of a branch breaking drew the attention of both the beast and Dean's. No more than three seconds later, a shot was heard, and then the creature laid dead at the feet of Sam Winchester, a shotgun held firmly aimed at the creature's head.

"The Head!" cursed Dean, holding his right arm, with an annoyed expression on his face "The fucking head was the weak point! It ain't even make sense!"

"It does make sense, Dean" say Sam, with his own brand bitch face "Since the creature is not a werewolf, if the heart doesn't do it, the head will do."

"You bitch" mock-yelled Dean "you were watchin' the whole time while I was bleeding to death and the thing was going to kill me" said while pointing at his injured arm.

"Of course, I was watching" said Sam with a pacifying tone "If not, I wouldn't know where to aim, and that on your arm is just a scratch."

"And what the fuck was that creature anyway?" asked Dean, ignoring the last part of what his brother said.

"If I have to guess" started Sam "I'd say is one of the weird creatures created by Eve some years ago, because there was no lore that matched it anywhere."

"Can I name it?" asked Dean, excitedly bouncing on his feet.

"Two words, Dean" answered an exasperated Sam "Jefferson. Starship."

"Awww, man" groaned Dean, punching Sam's arm "Whatever, let's get outta here" pause "Bitch."

"Jerk" bitch-faced Sam.

* * *

Later that day, Dean was pumping gas to his beloved Chevrolet Impala 67, when a loud crash was heard behind him. Without missing a beat, he drew his gun, careful as to not alert anybody about its hidden place and looked behind him to see what the commotion was about.

Inside the shop, there was a tall, slender guy with a mountain mask covering his face, aiming a gun to a scared looking clerk, who seemed no older than seventeen.

Reacting quickly, Dean ran toward the commotion, silently taking the safety off his gun as a precaution and aiming at the back of the tall guy. Tall guy didn't seem to notice the movement, but Clerk guy did, wide eyes looking towards Dean's gun. Luckily, he averted his gaze as to not tip Tall guy off, and without further hesitation, Dean said:

"I wouldn't do that if I were you" cocky smirk plastered on his face.

Tall guy didn't even have time to react to the quip, when he felt the back of a gun hit hard on his head, and he knew no more.

When Dean knocked off Tall guy, Clerk guy let a relieved sigh escape his mouth, glad that the situation was over, until he noticed that the blonde guy that saved his life didn't even attempt to put back his gun. Fearing the worst, he didn't relax until Blondie relaxed, put the safety back on and folded the gun between the layers of his leather jacket. Blondie looked back at him with concerned eyes and asked:

"Y'all right?"

"Yeah, I'm alright, completely and absolutely alright" Clerk guy's voice sounded a little hysterical, though Dean didn't blame him. Not everyone could shake off an attempt at their life with nothing but a shrug like him, so he didn't worry yet.

"Good, so… What's your name?" Smooth. Dean never was accused for being a calming presence.

"Name? Oh, yeah… Mike, my name is Mike" Said Clerk g… err Mike, looking towards the floor, and Dean could glimpse some tears forming in his eyes.

"Mike" said Dean soothingly. When the teen didn't react to his voice, he repeated the name more forcefully. Mike looked towards Dean reluctantly, wide eyes shining with supressed tears "You'll be alright, ya hear me? It was just a messed-up situation, but ya'll recover from this, 'cause your alive, and that should count for something, shouldn't it?"

"Y…yeah" hiccupped Mike, trying to hold back his tears "It's just, this is the f-first time s-s-something like t-this happened t-to me, and I didn´t know how to react, a-a-and is not as if I could defend myself either, so…"

"Hey, hey man, it's alright" said Dean, getting uncomfortable with the touchy-feeling situation, not one of his strong points. Wanting to end the direction which the conversation was turning, he said "I get it, but ya gotta be strong, 'cause if you're not, you won't get far, and if you wanna learn how to defend yourself, ya gotta be prepared to the thing life is gonna throw at ya" Sprouted Dean quickly, cringing when he rehearsed what he said in his mind.

"Thanks, I g-guess" said Mike, calmer now "And sorry for the, you know, spilling my guts and feeling towards you and all that."

"No problem" said Dean, relieved that the chick-flick moment was over "Just don't mention it."

"Oh, I can assure you I wouldn't spill any of what happened here to anybody" said Mike, reassuring "By the way, what's your name?"

"Dean Winchester" said Dean without thinking "Thanks man."

"I should be the one thanking you" pointed out Mike "Not the other way around."

"It was no problem at all" said Dean, and with that said, he left to look for Sammy and his Baby.

* * *

As he was driving down the road, Dean couldn't shake off the feeling of foreboding. There was something he was missing, some little fact that could turn his peaceful (as peaceful as they could be) days into chaos.

The radio was cracking in some local station, the news no more than blended words for Dean. He was starting to think that he should probably stop in the next motel to catch some shut eye when the mention of his name attracted his attention to the radio.

"…Dean Winchester is a known serial killer, most of the times traveling with his brother Sam, and both are probably armed. The list of felonies committed by them are frankly overwhelming. We insist that they are dangerous fellows, and to take precaution if you see one of them…"

"Son of a bitch!" yelled Dean, not knowing how else to react, alarmed that both him and his brother were again on the news but failing to think of an instance that put them on there. His feeling of foreboding increased tenfold.

"What are you going on about now Dean" said a ginormous, sorry, his brother Sam, with a sleepy voice, remnants of his little siesta, and Dean couldn't help himself when he said "We are serial killers again, Sammy, what else?"

The foggy mind of Sam Winchester couldn't wrap around those words, but when they finally sank in, Sam was alert in no more than two milliseconds.

"We what?!"

"Ya heard right, Sammy" said Dean, his voice resonating with tiredness "It seems my little stunt over the gas station was not at all appreciated."

"You are referring to the armed robbery you stopped" said Sam incredulous.

"It's the only instance I can think of that could end up in disaster like this" answered Dean.

"But you didn't give your name" said Sam slowly, but when he saw Dean's face, he facepalmed "You did."

"I didn't think anything would come with it!"

"But it did" pointed out Sam.

"I know! Ya don't have to sound like a little bitch!"

"Search for a Motel room" said an annoyed Sam, turning his back on him and facing the car's window "Jerk"


	2. Chapter 2

**Hey, I'm back! This is the second chapter of this story. I won't be updating very often but I'll try to do my best. If you find any mistakes please point them out because as I said, english is not my first language. Your feed back is my way of improving 😊**

**There's also the fact that I don't know well how the educational system in the USA works, so if something is wrong about what I write just chalk it up as something that happens in the story only.**

**On to the story then...**

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything but the OCs.**

* * *

Washington DC

FBI Special Agent Rose Andrews was musing about her day so far.

After leaving her seventeen years old genius son in the airport for his final year in MIT, she went on about her day like normal, bringing coffee to her colleagues and starting doing paperwork. After completing the tedious task, she started revising old cases that went cold, some of them because there was no evidence whatsoever to link them to the perpetrator and others just because they were plain weird and didn't make any sense.

Lost on her thoughts, she didn't notice her boss approach till he was practically looming over her.

"Agent Andrews"

Startling abruptly out of her thoughts, Rose took a moment to collect herself, before responding:

"Yeah, bossman?"

"A moment of your time, if you please" Bossman Williams replied stoically, ignoring the jab with the practice of years of hearing the same thing from her.

Confused, Rose stood up from her desk and started following her boss, mentally reviewing all her actions and those that could potentially get her fired, only drawing a blank.

Only when they were safely inside Williams' office did her boss start to talk.

"Earlier this morning the local police force from Kemper, Illinois contacted us about an attempted robbery at a gas station"

"I'm sorry, sir" said Rose, perplexed "But what does the FBI have anything to do with a minor crime like that?"

"They said Dean Winchester stopped the robber from shooting the clerk and knocked him unconscious"

All the blood flew from her face hearing that name, leaving her white as a sheet and slightly shaking.

Dean Winchester was a known serial killer, his crimes not only baffling the FBI's best profilers because of their varied nature, but also disconcerting the forensic team in charge of cataloguing his victims due to the abnormal circumstances of their deaths, ranging from missing lungs with no visible injury otherwise to burnt eyes with a pattern of carved wings on the floor.

What was more confusing was the fact that Winchester not only escaped police custody multiple times, sometimes with help from a local and sometimes without, but it also seemed as if he came back from the dead again and again, gaining a reputation inside the FBI as the walking dead case. Due to the sensitive nature of the case, and to not cause mass hysteria, Dean Winchester and his brother Sam still remained dead to the general public.

There were rumours of them trying to assassinate the president, but only those into conspiracy theories gave them credit. That, and the victims claiming to be saved by them made the Winchester one of the most bewildering cases in recent history.

None of that is what made Rose pale. Seventeen years ago, back in 2002 when she was only a detective employed by the police force of her town, a case had gone wrong and an eight-year-old was murdered, making Rose lose her temper and go to a bar to get smashed.

There, she met a young Dean Winchester, without yet the infamous reputation he would later gain but as charming as they come. In a moment unlike herself, she spent the night with him, trying to forget the case and the girl that died because the perpetrator had an accomplice inside the police station who destroyed the evidence linking the previous murders to him and thus costing more time and effort when the time came to arrest him.

Nine months later, on October 31th at 12:00 am on a stormy night, like some freaky coincidence, James Andrews was born, thus starting the joke about him being the son of the devil. Years later, while watching Winchester and his brother gun down an entire diner on TV, Rose seriously thought that the statement wasn't so far off the mark. It was then that Rose had to explain to her son who exactly his father was, since he looked like a miniature copy of Winchester, the only difference being the cobalt blue eyes that he inherited from her. She knew beforehand that Winchester had a rap sheet, since she worked for the FBI, but never in her wildest dreams could she have imagined the sort of horrors he was capable of.

_(2012) Rose nervously paced in the living room, trying to calm her racing heart. She tried really hard to bury those terrifying videos in a far corner of her mind, to not remember the burning green eyes that seemed to look right at her through the TV screen, without too much success. She was waiting for her ten-year-old son to come home, so she could finally tell him who his father was. James has been pestering nonstop for her to tell him who he is since the start of high school, but Rose felt that her son wasn't ready yet to know the type of man that fathered him without going into too much details. Besides, for what the reports of their case said, Dean Winchester perished alongside his brother Sam in an explosion before they could be transferred to a Supermax prison. That notion was shattered when earlier that week they made the news, with videos showing actions so horrifying that Rose couldn't believe that once upon a time, she spent the night with one of the brothers._

_She knew with certainty that if James watched one of the videos, he would pick up the similarities between him and Dean and easily connect the dots. Her son was a genius in the calibre of the greatest minds, a surprise for her since she knew that although she was above average in some aspects, she was a far cry from being genius. Her little James started high school when he was only nine years old, astounding her with how many grades he skipped. His classmates were all bigger and older than him, so he had a little difficulty with connecting with them and making friends. That's why Rose decided to enlist him in Taekwondo lessons, with members of his age group, and that's where he was today. The lessons should have finished already so he should be home soon._

_As if on cue, Rose hear the distinct sound of a key being inserted in the lock. Taking a deep nervous breath, she waited for her son to make his way to her._

_"__Afternoon, mom" was the first thing he said when he entered_

_"__Good afternoon, sweety" replied Rose, masking her anxiousness with a wide smile "How was your day?" James was not fooled._

_"__What's up?" asked her son sharply, then continued "You are nervous" observed James, without hesitating. Rose sighed, knowing there was no point in trying to hide her feeling from him. Somehow, someway her son always knew when something was up._

_"__It's about your father" stated Rose bluntly, all thoughts of sugar-coating the facts flying from her mind. James' eyes widened in surprise, but remained silent. She knew it was his way of saying 'I'm listening'. "Why don't we take a seat? The information is a little… err… off-putting?" She half-asked, half-declared, not knowing how to tell her son that the man who fathered him was a horrible human being._

_"__Sure" responded James without fanfare, and then he sat down on the sofa in front of her._

_"__Okay" Rose took a breath, calming herself a little "What I'm about to tell you will no leave this room. I want you to know that, despite the actions of your father, you're in no way responsible of the path he took, and that you are nothing like him, in spite of your appearance"_

_James mulled over the words, his intelligent cobalt eyes showing he was lost in his mind connecting what little information he knew to form a picture of the situation. Judging by his frown, the pieces were falling in place and forming a rather bad picture._

_An FBI agent for a mom. The warning about the situation. The anxiousness that permeated the room because of her. The assurance that he was nothing like his father. And to Rose surprise…_

_"__Is my father Dean Winchester?" It sounded like a question, but knowing her son, Rose was sure that he already knew her answer._

_"__Yes" she responded without preamble. It shouldn't surprise her the deductive skills of her son, but somehow, they always did. Then she added with disapproval "I didn't know you watched the videos" _

_"__I didn't" said James earnestly "I made a new friend today, and she was with her family when the videos were released on the news. She told me it was the scariest thing she's ever seen."_

_Rose was happy that her introverted son made a new friend, but there was something she didn't understand._

_"__Then how did you reach the conclusion of Winchester being your father?" she asked, perplexed._

_"__The timing" answered James promptly "You are telling me now on the off-chance that I manage to watch them on the news. Besides, my new friend remarked jokingly that I looked very similar to Dean Winchester."_

_Pride swelled inside Rose at the answer. She may have slept with a murderer, but she couldn't bring herself to regret it when their night resulted in the one person she loved the most. James was her son and she will be damned if she thought him as a mistake._

_And then he said something that broke her heart and swelled fury inside her at the same time._

_"__I'm not going to end up like him, right?" asked James with wobbly lips, trying to not let his tears fall and partially succeeding._

_James may be one of the most intelligent children she knew, but at the end of the day he was just that, a child._

_"__Oh, of course not sweety" answered Rose lovingly, leaving her seat and embracing him in a hug "You are one of the kindest people I know. You have a bright future ahead of yourself. Your father doesn't define you in any way, shape or form" she then planted a kiss in his head, while he hugged her firmly, stifling his sniffles and just basking in the warm embrace of his mother._

_Right after that, they spent the night in the living room watching and mocking horror movies with a huge bowl of popcorn._

"Dean Winchester" repeated Rose flatly, trying and succeeding a little in hiding her anxiousness from her boss.

"Yes" responded Williams equally flatly "Unfortunately, the local police leaked the information to the press, so now the public are very much aware of the fact that two murderers walk the street freely when they supposedly were six feet under the floor, and they are demanding answers." He continued sardonically "Thanks to the damn blood hounds called the press, the FBI as a whole is being held accountable in the eyes of every citizen. The blame falls on us for something we tried to stop many times without much success. Do you understand the position we are in, Agent Andrews?"

"Perfectly, boss" replied Rose sombrely.

If the public demanded answers and they were being held responsible, they had to put all possible resources to capture the brothers immediately. If not, the public outcry would be disastrous for them. There was enough wariness towards them as it is.

"We need to form a team specifically dedicated to hunt for the Winchester." Williams decreed firmly "The best of the best, and I want you to be the one who leads it and this case"

"M-me?" stuttered Rose, flabbergasted "Why me?"

Williams held her eyes firmly for a second, his penetrating grey eyes boring into hers and stripping her as if seeing right into her very soul. He then said something that made her whole world screech to a halt.

"I know about your son" he replied simply.

Rose wanted the earth to swallow her.


	3. Chapter 3

**Another chapter is here! Thanks for giving this story an opportunity. I hope you like it!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything but the OCs**

* * *

Dean woke up from a nightmare. He didn't dream anything specific; he just got the general feeling of dread and despair that reminded him of his time in Hell. He sat up groggily, yawning and stretching, noticing distractedly that his back didn't make any popping sound. Rubbing his eyes, he inspected the darkness of the room, guessing that he slept at least four hours.

Sure enough, when he turned on his phone, it read 3:39 AM.

Concluding he wouldn't be able to fall asleep again, he got up from his bed. Or at least, that was what he tried to do. His sense of balance was so off that when he stood up, he felt vertigo and nausea, and after that he noted dizzily that he wasn't able to stand properly. He nearly fell to the floor, his only saviour being the bedside table. His head started pounding slightly, a dull throb that was slowly driving him insane.

Without conscious thought, he grabbed his phone, turned on the flashlight and slowly made his way to the bathroom, being careful about making no loud noises that would wake up his little brother. Once he was inside the bathroom and the light was on, he went straight to the toilet and emptied his stomach of its contents, retching even more when he caught sight of the vomit. It was intertwined with blood.

After five minutes, the sickness seemed to recede, and he was able to stand up without feeling like his entire world was rotating on its axis. He went to wash his mouth, eager to wash away the metallic taste of blood, but before he could do anything, he caught sight of his face on the mirror. His twenty-years-old self's face, to be specific.

Mouth agape, he watched his reflexion with a sort of entranced horror, his sleep depraved brain trying to make heads or tails of the situation. He began to formulate various theories, from time-travelling mishap, to dimension-hopping, or maybe just plain old witches being witches. He hated witches.

Before he could start thinking more wild theories about his situation, a knock on the door interrupted his train of thought, followed by the dulcets tone of Sam's voice. In the back of his mind, he noted his level of sarcasm matched the face he was wearing now (who was he kidding? He wore sarcasm as an armour)

"Dean, I heard you retching" There was a pause "Are you okay?" The levels of concern displayed on his voice warmed Dean's heart, though he wouldn't admit it to his face, not even for all the pie in the world. Maybe. Jury's still out there with that one.

Sam sounded like his usual self, so there went the time-travel and dimension-hopping theories. He was slightly disappointed. They still were hunted by the FBI.

"Yeah, Sammy" Dean's voice sounded rough, and not just because of the lingering traces of sleep. "Go back to sleep"

He could practically feel the bitch-face plastered all over his brother.

"Dean, you know I can't. We promised. No more secrets" Sam practically demanded.

Not for the first time, Dean regretted making that promise.

"Alright, alright Samantha, calm your tits. Jeez" answered an annoyed Dean, and then went to open the door.

The face Sam made when he caught sight of him for the first time was hilarious. Mouth ajar, bulging eyes, the whole nine yards (Dean ignored the part of his brain that said his face was an exact copy of Sam's moments ago). Dean, always prepared for potential blackmail material, took a picture of the wide-eyed Sam without a moment of thought. The flash of the camera seemed to snap his brother out of his shock, and the glare he sent towards Dean could potentially make him combust. Dean was extremely glad his brother's psychic phase was over. Kid really could make a threatening face; he needn't to back it up with powers.

"Seriously, Dean?" said an aggravated and incredulous Sam, somehow still being surprised by the level of immaturity displayed by his brother.

"Seriously, Sam" replied a gleeful Dean, feeling downright smug about the photo.

"…Never mind" said a resigned Sam, knowing his brother would brag about the photo for at least a month (he still didn't live down the time when he broke his arm pretending to be Superman, or the time they found out about Sully and the Zannas, or the Carnival Incident of 1991, capital 'I'). Instead of indulging in his brother's childish antics, Sam focused on another matter; "What the hell is with you and being transformed in your younger self?"

"I have this awesome power called awesomeness" snipped Dean, somewhat annoyed at his brother's inquiry. He didn't freakin' know why the fuck he was the one always being de-aged, it was not as if he could pull the answer outta nowhere!

"Okay, let's back up for a minute" uttered an exhausted Sam with a conciliatory tone, rubbing his face "How did this happen?"

"I have no freakin' clue" stated Dean, impatiently.

"You mean to tell me that there's no incident that comes to your mind that may explain your situation? Nothing whatsoever?" asked an incredulous Sam.

"Nope"

"Shit"

"My feelings exactly"

"We may have to call Rowena for this, see if she identifies the curse or whatever this is" explained Sam cautiously.

"Ugh, fine" sulked Dean.

Before they could do anything else, the door of the motel room was knocked over, two cops entering and aiming their guns to the brothers.

"POLICE! Hands behind your back!"

"Shit" exclaimed Sam once again, putting his hand as instructed, utterly bewildered by how fast the situation was escalating.

"No shit, Sherlock" muttered Dean, more resignedly than sarcastically, while repeating the same actions.

* * *

"You k-know?" stuttered Rose, completely blindsided by the statement.

"I suspected" amended Williams, his unflappable attitude a contrast with the rising fear Rose was feeling. "I needed your reaction as a confirmation"

Rose nearly facepalmed. Of course her boss would spring something like this to her. She should watch her reactions more closely in the future.

"B-but what about me leading this case?" asked Rose, ignoring for now the issue of her boss knowing she slept with a murderer "Am I not too emotionally compromised?"

"Are you?" Williams' face could've been carved from stone.

"O-of course not!" exclaimed Rose rapidly, her heart thumping erratically, not knowing what to expect.

"Don't make a mistake, I came close to not putting you in the case at all" stated Williams calmly, his penetrating eyes burning holes in Rose's own. "But I have faith that you would not let a one-night stand cloud your judgement"

"Don't worry, Bossman" spoke Rose resolutely, straightening her back "My judgement will be clear of all bias. The only thing in common I have with Winchester is my son"

"Good" Williams seemed satisfied, which put Rose more at easy "Your new team is waiting in the Conference Room"

* * *

In the Conference Room, three people were waiting their new leader. One of them was Felix Wills, an aspiring FBI agent with two PhDs to his name, one in criminal psychology and the other one in law, who was staring fixedly at the wall, lost in his thoughts. Another one was Ianara Rohrer, an Argentinian hacker that was watching everything lazily while drinking something from a strange cup with a metal straw, and the last one was Amelia Jackson, a liaison from the CIA, that was sitting rigidly while keeping an eye on the other two occupants.

"Man, this place is depressing" commented Rohrer out of nowhere, her English heavily accented. "Someone wants a _mate_?"

The door opened then, admitting Williams and Rose to the room. They went their separate ways, Rose sitting with her new teammates and Williams to the front to make introductions and explain the case.

"Team, this is you new leader, Agent Rose Andrews. Andrews, this is Agent Felix Wills, specialized in criminal psychology, Agent Amelia Jackson from the CIA, specialized in combat, and, finally, this is Ianara Rohrer, an expert hacker that was causing us trouble until we apprehended her"

"Che! What's up, amigos?" pipped up Rohrer, grinning widely.

"First we start with…" but before Williams could continue, he was interrupted by a knock on the door. Whomever was on the other side didn't wait for a response, opening the door hurriedly.

"Boss, we have a situation. The Winchesters has been apprehended"

* * *

**Omake**

Sammy raced through the streets, amazed by the sights around him. He lost Dad and Dean a while ago when he stopped to see with huge eyes a giant dinosaur with a kid on the top, but he wasn't worried. Dean always managed to find him, even when he made sure to stay well-hidden. His brother was awesome like that.

Without meaning to, he wandered to a section where there was a haunted house. A huge smile spread across his face, a metaphorical lightbulb turning on above his head.

Without a second thought, he snuck behind a couple that was entering the place, casually watching if someone was paying attention to him. Fortunately, everybody was oblivious to the ten-year-old antics.

He was sure there was nothing that would faze him inside, since he actually fought a ghost one week ago. He hunted monsters for a living, nothing could frighten him! (he ignored the fact that the ghost was actually his first hunt)

When he was finally inside, the first thing he saw was a clown. He was confused, clowns were not scary! But then, the clown started to laugh, a creepy laugh that sounded like madness made sound. The clown started to move towards him, a knife that wasn't there before in held in its hands.

Terrified, Sammy started to run, only to run into the couple he used as distraction.

"Hey! What's a kid doing here?" exclaimed the guy with a confused glance.

"Love, leave the kid alone" said the girl with an uncaring tone.

The clown laugh started to sound again, leaving Sammy horrified. They were going to die! He had to do something!

He spied the hand of the guy, where he held a cup of maybe-soda. Quickly, he snatched the cup, ignoring the surprised "Hey!" and returned, face resolute, to the spot where the clown was in.

Acting fast, Sammy threw the cup to the clown's face, only belatedly thinking that a cup wasn't that much of a weapon.

The cup hit true, and the maybe-soda spilled all over the clown, short-circuiting its mechanism. The clown started to behave erratically, terrifying Sammy even more. He started to cry, shouting his brother's name frantically.

It was fifteen minutes before Dean found his brother inside the haunted house, completely out of his mind with a clown laughing brokenly and swinging a knife erratically.

Thus concludes the Carnival Incident of 1991.

After the Incident, Sammy held a deep fear for clowns.

* * *

***Mate: Tea-like beverage typical of South America. Pronounced /mah-teh/**

***Che: Expresion widely used in Argentina that means "hey". Pronounced /cheh/**


	4. Chapter 4

**Another chapter! This one from the point of view of ****Dean's son. Hope you enjoy it.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything but the OCs.**

* * *

_His heart was hammering fast against his ribcage. He was trembling, his fear making it impossible to make his brain find a solution for his problem. It was one of the rare occasions his brain failed him. The pain didn't help either. He didn't know if it was minutes, hours or days since the pain started. It was immensurable. It was all-encompassing. It was never-ending._

_"__I'm so sorry, James" a male voice sounded through his pain-filled state of being, soothing and at the same time, terrifying "This is for your own protection. You will not remember anything"_

_James screamed, tear-filled eyes closing against his will. A black abyss greeted him, bringing alongside relief to his pain, and he knew no more._

He woke up with a start.

'This nightmare again' thought James groggily, rubbing the back of his hand against his eyes. He eyed his surrounding, sharp cobalt eyes picking all small details. He was in a plane, going back to Cambridge to his final year of his chosen career. Robotics.

There were rows and rows of people sleeping, with the odd ones messing with their phone. James frowned. He hoped those people put their phone on airplane mode.

The nightmare wasn't new. It started one year ago, after an incident that gave him a concussion. Back then, the nightmare wasn't so clearly defined as it was now, just a feeling of unbridled terror and indescribable pain. As time passed, bits and pieces of the nightmare were clearer, scaring the living daylights out of James since it resembled a memory more than a nightmare. And somehow, he forgot about it. Him, who remembered as far back as his first word_ ("badma!" he was delighted; "I can't believe your first word is Batman" his mom was exasperated)_ and never forgot anything again. And the scariest part was that he didn't know what happened. He knew he was in pain, but not why. He knew there was someone else with him, but not who. He _knew_ that that someone was responsible for his pain, but not _how_. And for someone who prided himself about being able to know every other thing that was thrown his way, it was beyond frustrating and _terrifying_.

"I can hear that head of yours thinking a mile a minute from here, Andrews" a sleepy voice broke through his pondering.

His best friend and partner in crime, Terry Knight.

He was an eighteen-year-old teen with golden brown eyes and hair. His frame was lean, with no muscles to speak of, and he was quite the chatterbox.

They met in their first year at university, Terry being a year older than him but the closest to his age than the rest of the people. To James surprise, he was from Washington too. James didn't make friends easily, his quiet nature and intelligent gaze putting off several people, with the rest being annoyed when he analysed them and deduced things correctly. Another problem was the fact he always tended to be the youngest among his peers. Terry was the second one after Linda, his first best friend, to see him as someone who was worth befriending. He wasn't put off by his gaze or silence, filling the quiet with constant chatter and jokes. It wasn't forced on his part, him being a natural extrovert, and sometimes James wondered what the other boy saw in him. He laughed when James made an observation, and constantly pestered him on the days he wanted solitude from the outside world, not that James minded. He grew accustomed to the other's presence beside him. It was actually pretty lively having him around. His mother was quite proud of him for making another friend besides Linda.

Terry wasn't lacking in the intelligence department either. He excelled in maths and quantum physics, and his diligence made him an excellent study partner. His goofy nature hid his sharp mind, often surprising people when he made insightful comments. It was easy to discuss with him topics the average person wouldn't discuss normally, not even Linda. They would debate often and adopt different postures for different topics to liven up the conversations. For James, who, before Terry, had to constantly hold back comments as to not appear rude, it was a refreshing and stimulating change.

Another contrast between them was sports. James loved doing all sort of activities, for the sole reason of shutting down his mind for a little while. The constant movement of his body distracted the otherwise endless input of information his brain dealt with. Terry, on the other hand, abhorred all type of sports without shame. For someone who appeared to have a source of limitless energy within his body, Terry was quite sedentary. He preferred long walks but when it came to sports, he always seems to evade the topic. Linda was the opposite, they bonding over sports and martial arts, but Terry went all silent when the topic was broached. James didn't know what was up with that, but he didn't pry. Terry was not the only one with issues best kept hidden.

"When am I not thinking, Knight?" answered James sassily.

"True" Terry acknowledged "But somehow, you are thinking more loudly than normal, so what has your panties in a twist?"

"My nightmare" admitted James reluctantly, knowing that if he didn't relent, the other teen would pester him till he spilled.

Terry was the only one who knew about the nightmare. He had watched as James started to have bags below his eyes and demanded to know what was going on. James, feeling exhausted after three days of constant terror, spilled the beans right there and then, and extracted a promise to not divulge to anyone what was going on. He was relieved to not be alone afterwards, so he didn't regret confiding with the other teen.

Terry was understanding, and helped him adjust to his new normal. He nattered constantly about everything, trying to pull James out of his funk. He would distract him with little things, like dragging him to a park or a library, or starting debates out of the blue. He never made any mention of the nightmare, and little by little, James started to ignore the scared feeling the nightmare gave him. It didn't go away, but James learnt to cope.

"Ugh, that again" complained Terry half-heartily, in an attempt to lighten up the mood "I think your nightmare is trying to tell you something, buddy. Like demigods' dreams"

"Oh, for God's sake, I still haven't read Percy Jackson, Terry" said an exasperated James.

"Why the hell not? I will have you know that the books are nothing like the movies. Seriously, what were they thinking when they made them? It is an insult to…" Terry continued talking enthusiastically, making James relax into himself with the sound of his friend's voice as background noise. Without meaning to, he drifted to sleep again, this time without the nightmare disturbing his rest.

The next time he awoke, they had already arrived to their destination and landed. He exited the plane, claimed his baggage alongside Terry, followed all procedures required and checked out.

They went to a hotel to spend the night there. They were going to ride a bus in the morning to go to students' residences on campus, since it was too late and they were too weary to go now.

They took a taxi, and once they arrived, they checked in a three-star hotel and didn't waste any more energy before collapsing in their respective beds. Within seconds, they were once again out like a light.

_A touch against his forehead._

_Pain. Fear. Agony is all James could feel aside from the dread. _

_'__Make it stop' he thought desperately 'Make it stop, make it stop please pleasepleasemakeitstop'_

_"__I'm so sorry, James" the voice pierced the pain "This is for your own protection. You will not remember anything"_

_Relief once darkness encompassed him._

_Before blacking out entirely, he made out the shape of a man with wings seemingly made out of shadows. He forgot._

James woke up once again panting. And confused.

Why? Why was he having those awful dreams? What was the thing that he forgot? And why was he remembering a man with _wings_ of all things?

That last part was new. He didn't know if what he saw was an hallucination or what. He didn't even know when the memory took place. He knew instinctively that it was a long time ago, but he was not sure when.

He turned on the lamp and grabbed his phone, intent on looking up all information available about amnesia and dreams. He would be able to read it quickly, and the data would become a permanent fixture in his brain.

He touched the browser, giving a cursory glance at the news.

His heart stopped. His ears started ringing. All thought of research flew out of his mind.

An impossibility stared right back.

_'__Sam and Dean Winchester once again walking among the living. When is the nightmare going to stop?'_

Below the headline, there were two mugshots of two men in their twenties. One was Sam Winchester, making what it seemed like a pout directed at the camera. He seemed like a random college student caught speeding, and nothing like a murderer.

The other man seemed to be looking straight at him. James imagined those cold viridian eyes staring right through him and gazing directly at his soul, and he shivered with dread. It was like looking at a distorted image of himself, and he didn't like it one bit.

So absorbed by the news he was, he didn't know he woke his friend till his phone was out of his hand.

"What'cha looking at that is so important at three in the morn… What" started saying Terry, only to pause and stare at the headline too. And then the mugshot. And then at James. And repeat.

James would have considered it funny if he wasn't in a state of shock himself.

"What the fuck, Jamie" whispered Terry, looking confused and scared "Why are you being hunted by the FBI? Why does it have another name? What's going on?"

"That's not me" James forced himself to said through his shock "That's not me" he repeated "That's my fucking father" he spitted out the last part.

"Shit" was the only thing Terry could say.

James wholeheartedly agreed.

A moment of silence, and then:

"What are you going to do?" asked Terry quietly, a stark contrast from his normally perpetual cheerful self.

"I don't know" whispered James furiously, trying to keep his tears at bay. He was partly successful, but no so much since he was trembling uncontrollably.

That was the moment a knock sounded sharply against the door.

And then the police were bursting through the door.


End file.
